(Sanya's POV)
The wasteland is exactly what it sounds like.
Desolate. Dead. A stretch of territory between pack lands that no one owns, no one tends, no one wants.
Dead trees claw at the gray sky. The earth is cracked and dry, nothing growing except withered weeds. And graves—dozens of graves, maybe hundreds—scatter across the landscape like broken teeth.
Old markers. Ancient stone. Crosses so weathered the names are illegible.
This is where dangerous rituals are performed. Where the veil between living and dead is thinnest.
This is where Tyron has brought me to put Aaron to rest.
But Aaron isn't dead. Will I be cursing him to perform his rites?
Tyron called his mother on the way. He commanded...he didn't ask...he right out told her to bring the entire family to the wastelands with
